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The Lady with the Dog and Other Stories by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
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no more. And in this constancy, in this complete indifference to
the life and death of each of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge
of our eternal salvation, of the unceasing movement of life upon
earth, of unceasing progress towards perfection. Sitting beside a
young woman who in the dawn seemed so lovely, soothed and spellbound
in these magical surroundings--the sea, mountains, clouds, the
open sky--Gurov thought how in reality everything is beautiful
in this world when one reflects: everything except what we think
or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher
aims of our existence.

A man walked up to them--probably a keeper--looked at them and
walked away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too.
They saw a steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the
glow of dawn.

"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence.

"Yes. It's time to go home."

They went back to the town.

Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched
and dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained
that she slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the
same questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that
he did not respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or
gardens, when there was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to
him and kissed her passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses
in broad daylight while he looked round in dread of some one's
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